


Too Many Cooks

by CisforCaffeinated



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Multi, Multiple Wardens (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 19:24:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16646213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CisforCaffeinated/pseuds/CisforCaffeinated
Summary: "Be careful, stay out of trouble, stay out of traps. You might try asking any of the inmates to see if they've seen Oswyn.""Oswyn." Neria repeated."Son of whats-his-face," Dan said helpfully. "The important one.""Son of Bann Sighard," Caitlin said forcefully. "We need him if we want the Landsmeet to go our way. You remember? To put Alistair on the throne?""Even though he doesn't want to be king," Neria repeated dutifully. "Right."





	Too Many Cooks

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Anobesecaterpillar and Theseourbodies for being the enablers.

__

"Ew."

 

Caitlin looked over at the mages to see what the current problem was. Daniel was trying to scrape something off of his boot using a dirty torture instrument. Neria looked on from a safe distance away, clutching her staff and pert little face scrunched into a moue of disgust.

"Put that down," Caitlin commanded, pointing at the filthy wooden work table he had gotten it from. "You don't know where that's been."

"It's been wherever _this_ came from," Dan mewled, though he obeyed. "Eauch."

"I could burn it off," Neria offered, relaxing her grip on her staff and shifting closer. "But it looks like it might smell even worse if I torched it."

 

"No." Bruno looked up at his person and cocked his head, tongue lolling. "No, I know what you were thinking. I don't have time to bathe you if you get mixed up in their mess." Caitlin rubbed the velvety wrinkles between his ears.

"We delay when we do not have time," the Sten said. His face tightened in his version of a frown. It was fascinating to watch. "Perhaps they may...chase but-ter-flies. Outside."

"They're not that bad," Caitlin lied. "Though you're right. We don't have time." She sniffed, determining the size of the dungeons by the amount of rot, damp, and effluvia that putrefied the air.

 

"Neria?"

"What do you need, Cait?" Neria asked, tugging Dan away from a rusty set of thumbscrews by his belt. Caitlin felt some sixth sense telling her that she would regret this in the future, but she squashed it in the face of the present.

"Why don't you take Dan and Bruno and explore the south end of the dungeons?" She pointed, making sure that Neria followed her finger and looked in the appropriate direction. One could never tell with mages. She waited for Neria to look back at her before continuing. "Be careful, stay out of trouble, stay out of traps. You might try asking any of the inmates to see if they've seen Oswyn."

"Oswyn." Neria repeated.

"Son of whats-his-face," Dan said helpfully. "The important one."

"Son of _Bann Sighard_ ," Caitlin said forcefully. "We need him if we want the Landsmeet to go our way. You remember? To put Alistair on the throne?"

"Even though he doesn't want to be king," Neria repeated dutifully. "Right."

"He's going to be a _great_ king," Caitlin corrected her. "Quickly, now. This isn't a pleasure trip." She gently tugged one of Bruno's ears for luck. "Make sure they don't kill themselves," she told him quietly. "You can do it, my great smart boy." He whined, wagged his stubby tail, and lead the two mages down the corridor. They were soon swallowed up by the murky torchlight and disappeared.

 

Without a word, Sten turned with Caitlin and together they made good time through the northern half of the dungeons. Nearly all of the cells were empty save for the moldering remains of their previous occupants. They passed through another eerily well-lit torture room and into an area of the dungeons that looked better kept than the rest. Though the cells were damp and empty, none of the straw had rotted COMPLETELY beyond recognition. This was apparently the more frequented area where they put people they didn't mean to forget about. No wonder the torture room was so clean and well-lit. It probably saw a lot of use.

 

Yet for all of its apparent attention, the cells were empty even of corpses. Caitlin checked thoroughly, of course. She broke into every cell and kicked the piles of hay and peered into the dark corners for any soul that could talk. At last, she rattled the bars of a cell and was rewarded with the phosphorus glow of eyes from the very back.

"Excuse me," she said, "I'm looking for a man named Oswyn. Do you know where he is?"

"Oswyn?" the eyes replied in a voice like a rusty gate. A face and head joined the eyes, and soon after came the body of an elf. He squinted suspiciously at Caitlin and the Sten in the torchlight. "No idea."

"You've obviously been down here awhile," Caitlin said bluntly. "You must have seen everyone who's passed by here in the past fortnight."

"As you say," grunted the elf.

 

A silence followed that was so awkward, even the Sten cleared his throat just to make noise. Caitlin remained undeterred. She made a show of looking the elf up and down, taking in the stained remains of his pauper's finery and the ugly yellow bruise on his face that caused him to squint. He was covered in the remains of a dozen small injuries and looked so thin that Caitlin bet she could snap in him half and use him for kindling. "What are you in for?" she asked at last. The elf shrugged.

"Does it matter?"

"It matters to me. The way you stand." She pointed at his feet and he looked down reflexively. "Weight in your toes. You're either a fighter or a dancer and I don't think dancers end up in prison."

"Both." He smiled; just a razor cut of teeth that disappeared as soon as it appeared. "I think…maybe like you."

"A duelist by training. And you?"

"I make things happen.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Bodies. Accidents. Sometimes explosions.”

"Ah." She favored him with a very small, indulgent smile. "My name is Caitlin Cousland." She reached out and shook his hand through the bars, feeling the callouses of knife-work on his palms.

"Ian Tabris."

"Master Tabris, would you like to hear a business proposition?" He shrugged.

"I've got time."

 

"I am the daughter of Teyrn Bryce Cousland of Highever and one of the last Grey Wardens in Fereldan. I am in the middle of ending the Blight and dealing out some long-awaited justice. I mean to put Maric's bastard son on the throne, kill the archdemon, and murder a man in cold blood for doing the same to my family." She looked down her nose at the ragged elf. "I could use skilled help. If you wish, I could invoke the Right of Conscription and pop you out of that cell right here, right now and take you with me. Completely legally. In return, you will join the Wardens. What do you say?"

 

"Kadan," the Sten murmured. "What is his crime? Would you have one without honor as brother?"

"Honor?" Ian repeated incredulously. "Andraste's flaming quim, what would I _do_ with honor?"

"He asks a worthy question, Master Tabris," Caitlin conceded. "What is your crime?"

"Murder." Caitlin's mouth twitched at how easily the elf spoke of killing. She made a polite noise of interest.

"Go on."

"The arl of Denerim's shitstain progeny Vaughn sauntered into my wedding ceremony bold as brass and took my friend, my fiancee, and two other women back for ," Ian said smoothly. "I failed to stop him. Then I broke into the arl's castle--" he gestured upwards to the estate that sat over their heads. "--slaughtered Lord Braden, Lord Jonaley, a host of guards, and Vaughn himself." He leaned forward, voice dropping low and scratchy. "He tried to buy his life before I cut it out of him. He murdered Nola, raped Shianni, and would have done the same to Nesiara. And _has_ done the same to dozens of women before because his daddy soothes all hurts with gold and guards."

 

He abruptly straightened and stepped away from the bars. "I will gladly take whatever they decide for me," he said. "I've made my difference. That's all I can ask for."

"Well, they don't care about you anymore. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news," Caitlin told him. "There's a landsmeet going on right now to decide the new king and Arl Shitstain Howe is still breathing. You'll die down here, forgotten. Or you can come with me and actually make something of the rest of your life."

 

She twirled her favorite lockpick between her fingers, noting how the elf's eyes followed the bit of flashing metal, hungry. "Is that a yes, Master Tabris?"

"It's a yes, Lady Cousland."

"Good." The door was open in a flash and she stepped back to give the elf room to stretch his legs outside of his cell. Maker, he was so much smaller than she was. "Now where the hell is Oswyn?"


End file.
